


Venom & Vlogs

by toothpaste_kisses



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: #aaron isn’t an asshole, F/F, M/M, Multi, Other, Youtube AU, also matt is a lets-player cuz why not?, dance au, dancer! neil, editor! andrew, filmmaker! andrew, nonbinary renee, they’re all cooler but also dorkier, youtuber! neil
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-17 22:16:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15471294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toothpaste_kisses/pseuds/toothpaste_kisses
Summary: Neil Josten is a dancer and YouTuber with a past shrouded in pain; regardless of his sarcasm and lack of social skills, the fans love him. Whether it’s watching him command a room with his moves or hearing him dryly criticize his fellow dancers’ work in the background or laughing about his relationship with his foster brother, Kevin Day, Neil has become the unofficial mascot for Foxhole Studios.Andrew Minyard is a video editor and filmmaker hired by Foxhole Studios for a new series on their channel. Despite his cousin Nicky and twin brother Aaron working for the company, Andrew is reluctant. His work has always had a purpose, and filming the series’ hosts, snobby Allison Reynolds and oblivious Neil Josten, getting coffee or meeting fans doesn’t seem worth it. But he needs the money... and may be a little curious why these total idiots are so popular.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have been writing for most of my life, but this is my first genuine fanfiction, so forgive a ho for any oocness or mistakes in parallels.
> 
> most of the music in this fic doesn’t have any choreography online that i’ve seen or liked, though i’ll try my best to describe my vision. (spoiler alert: i’m not a professional dancer ;-;)
> 
> oh and how to edit? idfk. (spoiler alert: im also not a professional filmmaker, r.i.p.)
> 
> i’ll add/update any important tags as i go along. comment if you feel i missed anything

Neil Josten let his cigarette burn to the filter without taking a drag. He rolled his shoulders against the bodily ache encompassing him and watched the cloud of his breath trail with the cigarette smoke into the night sky. He sat on the curb outside the Foxhole Studio, curled up against the cold as he waited for his Uber, and hoped the driver hadn’t got lost— his phone had died moments after he requested a ride. Somewhere in a distant alley, a cat hissed and knocked over a trash can. A car horn died off, which Neil’s headache appreciated.

It had been a long day, not unlike the others. His schedule had always been packed, between his classes, his part-time job and his dance career. On nights like these, when practice ran late, the young man often considered dropping out of college just so he could sleep in tomorrow. He made the mistake of bringing this up once to a fellow dancer, Allison, who chewed him out for hours after, but at least he hadn’t let it slip around his coach and guardian, David; the retired dancer probably would’ve called him every morning to make sure his ward was going to class.

A blue Jeep pulled up beside him and Neil walked up to the passenger seat. “Who are you picking up?” he asked the man, a question Allison had suggested in case someone wasn’t who they said they were. It was the only reason he trusted Uber instead of just running home each night.

”Uh...” the driver looked down at his phone. “Neil?”

The dancer nodded before hopping into the Jeep. As they drove through the city, the man’s attempts at small talk eventually died out after Neil stopped responding. They pulled up to his building and he nodded his thanks, slamming the car door behind him.

The closer Neil got to his apartment, the heavier his body felt with the promise of his futon bed and five hours of unconsciousness. Unfortunately, those hours evaporated when he opened the door and heard his roommate shout some obscenity from down the hall. They had chosen the flat specifically because the bedrooms were on opposite sides— Neil’s tucked to the right next to their sorry excuse for a home gym, and Matt’s on the left by the bathroom. Matt often worked late into the night playing video games or editing for his YouTube channel, and though he tried to keep it down, he was easily frightened and frustrated. 

Sighing, Neil tossed his gym bag unceremoniously by the front door and kicked off his shoes. After grabbing an apple from the kitchen, he knocked hard on Matt’s bedroom door. It always made him feel rude, but the gamer rarely heard him if he was polite.

The door swung open almost immediately and Matt smiled sheepishly at Neil, taking off his wireless headphones. “Shit, sorry. I lost track of time.” He was still glossy-eyed from his computer screen, clearly frustrated at whatever rage-inducing indie game his fans had suggested he play now.

Swallowing a bite of apple, Neil shrugged. “I just got in; no worries.”

Matt looked down at his watch, his eyebrows rising. “It’s past midnight! You must be dying on your feet right now.”

He waved off the concern. “I’m fine.”

The taller man gave him an exasperated look. “You have class at, like, eight in the morning, right?”

Neil grunted in affirmation.

”I’m just about done with this shitstorm of a game. I’ll go do a quick outro so I’m not keeping you up.”

Neil finished his apple and threw it in Matt’s bin, his mind working overtime for simple tasks. “Yeah, cool.”

Before he could leave, though, Matt questioned, “Did you guys record today?”

”If you count the whole eight minutes of decent content out of eight hours of work, then I guess so.” Neil was a dancer, but the studio recorded their practices and uploaded them online.  At first, that was all they did, but around the time he started college two years ago, the channel also started posting vlogs, Q&As, and other series here and there. Neil just wanted to dance, but his foster father’s role as co-founder of Foxhole Studios automatically made him one of the channel’s figureheads. Tonight, Neil had practiced a dance with Allison and Nicky, the latter of whom kept getting distracted by his boyfriend texting him and had to repeat the same moves a thousand times before he got them.

”I’m sure those are eight full minutes of you being as charming as ever,” Matt said sweetly, to which Neil pretended to gag. “Oh, and charge your damn phone!” he called after him as Neil turned away.

Later, on the edge of sleep, he would regret following Matt’s advice when his phone powered on and rang with notifications. Because he would stay up all night worrying, he quickly scrolled through Twitter mentions and the Foxhle’s group chat (which was mostly Nicky talking to himself). Among these, he found a message from his guardian, David.

**_Davy Why-mack_ **

**9:43PM** _i kno ur off tmrw but theres somone u need to meet. 3 at the studio and for gods sake get some sleep_

Not bothering to figure out who was important enough to interrupt his one day off from practice, Neil tossed his phone back on his bedside window and promptly passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! this chapter is relatively short, but i can’t say how it’ll compare in length to future chapters. 
> 
> if you see any spelling errors or repetitive word use, legit tell me cuz i hate myself for every mistake i publish.
> 
> next chapter: andrew’s pov


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ayyy hi hello thanks for the kudos last chapter, i luv u.
> 
> in the interest of consistency, andrew’s intro chapter is short as well. i’ll (try) to lengthen them as we go, so it might be a day or two until chapter three. 
> 
> also, y’all may notice there has been significantly NO dancing, but your boi has so many ideas, don’t worry. 
> 
> again, lemme know if you find any grammatical errors thx boo

Andrew Minyard hated business calls; he couldn’t read body language over the phone and didn’t bother trying to navigate the subtlety of white collar insults. Though the calls were few and far between, he still felt like he’d run miles when he finally hung up, rubbing the exhaustion from his eyes and leaning back in his desk chair. He had spent all afternoon searching for a new actress after the original cast member had ditched his latest project. There was no shortage of actresses in the city, yet not many were comfortable with the role. They wouldn’t be filming for a few months yet, but Andrew hated the uncertainty. 

Plus, he might have other obligations soon, he thought as he picked his phone up again. Opening the conversation with his cousin, Nicky, he rolled his eyes at the volley of messages. Nicky, along with Andrew’s twin, Aaron, worked for Foxhole Studios, a name known by anyone with social media. Their forte was dancing, but the company was expanding into other avenues. While his brother preferred just dancing, Nicky loved the reaction videos and skits they recorded occasionally and he even ran a miniseries on the channel about sexuality and gender identity.

Recently, Nicky had been insisting Andrew join the company to help film and edit the constant flow of videos they were always producing. He wanted to say no immediately; though Nicky’s series “Identity Crisis”, was worth something, the Foxhole’s other videos seemed bland and unoriginal. However much he couldn’t understand the Foxes, though, editing jobs had been particular sparse lately and he needed money. 

Andrew scanned absentmindedly through Nicky’s messages, most ridden with an obscene amount of exclamation points and emojis. The general tone was his cousin’s admiration for his fellow dancers and his excitement for a new series on the channel. He claimed Wymack, their manager, had watched some of Andrew’s short films and insisted he work with them. The last text left a sour taste in his mouth.

**_Nickelodeon_ **

**3:23PM** _ DONT KILL ME BUT I KINDA MIGHTA… gave him ur # & he’ll call in half an hour, luv u!!!  _ (゜▽゜;)

Andrew sighed, realizing it was almost thirty minutes after he’d sent it.

**_Andrew_ **

**3:49PM** _ What color would you like your coffin? _

Before he got a response, however, his phone rang right on cue. The number was unsaved but it had the city’s area code, so he knew it wasn’t a telemarketer or surveyor. “Minyard,” he answered curtly, grabbing his wallet from his desk before heading out of his apartment.

“‘Afternoon, Mr. Minyard. This is David Wymack. I’m sure your cousin mentioned you I’d be calling.”

“Briefly,” he replied, locking his apartment door behind him.

“I’m also sure he’s told  _ why _ I’m calling, so let’s cut to the chase.” He paused for a moment. “Payment will be three-fifty per video, plus twenty percent of series’ royalties. Videos biweekly. Hours are up to you and the hosts, but will probably include two or three days of filming each week. Any travel fees are covered.”

Andrew hummed thoughtfully, dodging fellow pedestrians on their way home from work. That… actually sounded decent. More than decent. How much money did the studio expect to make from this series?

“Any questions?” Wymack asked the silence.

Nicky told him Allison Reynolds was the mind behind the series, but Wymack had said “hosts”, as in plural. Curiously, Andrew asked, “Who will I be working with?”

“Two of our lead choreographers, Allison Reynolds and Neil Josten.”

Andrew remembered Allison enough. Aaron complained loudly about how harsh of a teacher she was, and Nicky was always trying to show them makeup tutorials she did on her personal channel. Neil Josten… everyone knew him. He and his brother, Kevin Day, were the poster boys of the channel. Last he checked, the two of them were dead center on the channel’s banner, in a balanced pose with their backs to each other and their arms linked as they leaned away from each other. Andrew hadn’t watched any videos with him, but he was sure Josten was as intolerable as Reynolds.

“If you’re available this time tomorrow, the three of you can meet in person and they can explain the series’ concept.”

Andrew huffed as he entered his favorite cafe, feeling this was going to be a tremendous mental battle. “Alright. Where?” 

After Wymack told him the address of their studio, Andrew gave a curt goodbye and turned his phone completely off. Right now, he needed coffee and silence. At least he had twenty-four hours to prepare himself mentally.

____

 

Twenty-four hours would never prepare him for this dumpster fire, Andrew thought as he pulled into the Foxhole Studio’s parking lot. Last night, he had looked up this Neil Josten and concluded the dancer was more insufferable than he’d originally thought. 

By simply searching his name on YouTube, Andrew was met with a few playlists of videos featuring Josten and was unsurprised to find the founder’s son was almost in every one made by the channel. Andrew assumed their fans’ obsession had mostly to do with Josten’s good looks and intense dancing, but there were heaps of fan-made videos such as “14 min of neil josten saying he’s fine when he’s Clearly Not” and “rare neil laughs compilation”. Their subscribers seemed to paint him as this goofy kid, but when Andrew decided to actually watch one of his videos, from a series dubbed “Everybody’s A Critic”, Josten seemed banal and rude as he critiqued his coworkers’ dances. 

Yet the video ended with Nicky in the background saying, “But you love us, right?” and Josten staring at his hands with a quiet, “Yeah, of course.”

Andrew was confused, to say the least. He was a master at reading people, so he blamed the editing. Slamming his car door behind him, he headed into the building. He had been here a few times to pick up his family, but never went past the lobby. It was a Monday, which Andrew knew was the dancers’ day off, so the practice rooms were silent as he made his way down the hall to the room number Wymack had given him. 

The door opened to a lounge. The room was darkened by thick curtains, the main light source a flat screen playing a music video on mute. It illuminated the small four-seat table in the back and several bean bag chairs littering the remaining space, one of them covered in blankets. Andrew searched for a light switch and found one to the right of the entrance. A small shout came from one of the beanbags, and Andrew watched as a head of auburn hair popped out from under the blankets.

Brilliant, blue eyes squinted at him in mild confusion. “Aaron?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!
> 
> i wanted to end this with “oh no, not nearly straight enough” but that’s a little ooc for this andrew so whateves
> 
> next chapter: a meeting most foul


End file.
